That Certain Rush

She's standing in her underwear. You didn't mean to just walk in like that, but you couldn't have known. You were gone for only a minute. You feel a certain rush. Like a little kid given a cookie. Like sledding down a hill. Like diving into a cool lake on a hot day. Like jumping off a swingset. You can't help but stare after you avert your eyes.

It doesn't seem to phase her though, her state of dress. She's slipping on a pair of jeans. She does that little jumping shifting dance to pull them over her hips. She turns around and smiles at you. Like an ice cream cone in the summertime. She pulls an old tee shirt over her head. I think that's inside out, you say. She says something you won't hear.

She bends over to tug on her sandals and you watch her hair cascading over her shoulders. Like a hot shower after a long run. She walks towards you, towards the door. Are you ready, she asks. Her palm reaches out and touches your cheek. Like waking up from a Sunday afternoon nap, refreshed, blissful. You just look into her eyes, replaying her routine in your mind. A little show just for you, a wonderful moment in time.